


Shutting out the Sun

by fereldenpeach



Series: One-Shot Sexcerpts [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Rough Sex, no dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldenpeach/pseuds/fereldenpeach
Summary: Anonymous Tumblr prompt:"What if Cullen gradually replaced his lyrium addiction with an addiction to something else? Like...the Inquisitor?
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s), Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: One-Shot Sexcerpts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/736374
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	Shutting out the Sun

His head was splitting. He was sure of it.

With the latest influx of recruits requiring multiple drills a day—the fresh meat rotating through combat training, defense demonstrations, armor fittings, and weapon care instruction—the morning had come obnoxiously early, and despite what little sleep he was able to catch during his fitful nightmares, the Commander of the Inquisition had been granted no reprieve against the invisible war waging against his body.

He stood there on the outskirts of the training grounds, breath stilling in his pained lungs, and passively watched the new warriors, mages, and rogues respond to instruction via his second-in-command. Glassy, bleary eyes blinked away the frustration manifesting along the dark line of his lashes, and he felt a roiling pull at his muscles—a burning sting gripping at the tendons within his neck, causing that overworked muscle in his jaw to jump and knot into an unimaginable tension, spiderwebbing upward to nestle beneath his scalp and encircle the depths of his eye sockets.

The clash of steel before him reverberated against the very fabric of his being, sending a jolt to the ever-creeping tingle that had woven itself into his nerves, his blood, his bones—awakening the repetitious and tinnitus-inducing song plaguing him since the day he’d consumed his first vial of lyrium. 

And Cullen was sure that his head was splitting. Right down the center of his skull—crackling apart his flesh and bone. Yet some part deep down inside wished that it would—wished for anything to alleviate the madness threatening his grip on reality.

He closed his eyes—willing away the pain, willing away the _need_ for the celestine, glowing liquid to cool and calm the burning in his veins. Even the drag of breath through his nose was painful, a pressure building up and clouding his thoughts. Cullen exhaled through his mouth and finally glanced up—eyes taking a moment to focus, but a flash of fiery red hair from across the training grounds caused them to snap to attention, and he glimpsed the slender yet muscular frame of his paramour—no, _the Inquisitor_ —as she made her trek up the stairs leading from the courtyard to the entrance of the main hall.

The meat of her hips swayed side to side, the shapeliness of her ass rounding and flexing with each step. Her hair tossed over her shoulder with a casual flick of her wrist—an action that he knew sent her fragrance swirling into the senses of those around her. His eyes closed at the thought, reminiscing on how rich in honeysuckle, jasmine, and caramel his pillow had become from her scent alone, and how badly he craved it just from glimpsing the whip of her tresses against the wind. But she disappeared into the hall without a backward glance, and yet he could hear her warm voice echoing far away in his mind, quietly reiterating the words she had spoken the last time his episode had throttled his body into near incapacitation.

_“Use me—take me,”_ she had said. _“Let me be your cure. Anytime. Anywhere. You don’t have to do this alone, Cullen.”_

He had argued with her, told her that his choice to leave the templar life behind was _his_ _own_ burden—in addition to the struggle of lyrium withdrawal—and that she should not be made to suffer along with him. He _would not_ allow her to assume responsibility.

But she had laced her fingers together behind his neck, gazing up into his sunken and darkened eyes. _“But Cullen,”_ she had whispered, her steamy breath cooling as she activated her magic—knowing that his withdrawal coursed hotly just beneath his skin, making him feel as if it crawled and melted under the heavy weight of his armor.

_“Suffering is the furthest thing from my mind when your cock is deep inside me—pounding—ravaging—”_ Her mouth had brushed against his, softly sucking his bottom lip with the lightest of nibbles. _“And you_ **_always_** _feel better after I ride you—suck you off—make you come…”_

Cullen let her words echo in confirmation, deliberating on the implication of accepting her offer—of indulging in his quickly growing addiction to something else entirely—to _her_ , being _with_ _her_ , and how _he felt_ when he was with her. “ _Use me. Anytime. Anywhere.”_

And with that, he stalked off toward the main hall, climbing the stairs and throwing open the large, heavy doors—the pulse in his ears throbbing in time with the booming of his footfall. With brow furrowed and jaw clenched, his demeanor relayed nothing out of the ordinary to the Skyhold inhabitants as they loitered at the long dinner tables, huddled around the scaffolding, and lingered in half-built doorways.

He pushed through the throng, marching toward the furthest door on the left of the hall, and barged in—hardly entertaining the notion of how it looked for him to approach the Inquisitor unsummoned and unannounced—the fogginess of his mind overriding his regard and respect for appearances. Cullen let the door close harshly behind him and he tore off for the stairs, rounding the corner and palming the wood of her door, pressing it aside to step in.

“Ev, I—” Cullen paused, the desperation in his voice suspended in the air as he glimpsed the shimmering ruffles of Josephine’s dress, watching her turn to address him—her quill still scribbling across the parchment in response to Evelia’s orders. Cullen cleared his throat. “Ahem. Good morning, Ambassador. Might I—ah—have a word with the Inquisitor, please?”

Evelia glanced up from her perch on the desk, abandoning her study of requisitions upon hearing the trembling and uneasiness in Cullen’s voice—but it was the ragged breath and underlying, dangerous intonations of his words that grasped her full attention—the control he so carefully managed seeming to slip from him by the second.

“I believe this cannot wait, Commander,” came Josephine’s sultry timbre, a small smile forming on her lips. “We must see to the issue of the—”

“Josephine,” said Evelia, sliding off the desk, “If you’d give me a moment with the Commander, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Josephine clucked her tongue with a tsk, her impatience written in the lines of her face. “But the Orlesians—”

Evelia watched as a bead of sweat traveled from Cullen’s temple, gliding down into dark shadow of his stubble. The look in his eyes screaming for help, and relief, and _release_. His knuckles pointed and flexed beneath the leather of his gloves from his tight grasp on his hilt—impatience and pain rearing from every visible spot of his body.

“There’s a hidden box of chocolates behind the loose stone above the doorway of the Undercroft,” Evelia cut in, “If you let me see to the Orlesians sometime later today, the box is yours. I’m afraid the Commander needs my attention, and I _really_ do not want to part with those chocolates…”

As if Evelia had cast some sort of spell over her Ambassador, Josephine’s eyes sparkled with a girlish giddiness, her mood lifting with a renewed sense of delight. “I…shall accept your bargain. After dinner then?”

Evelia nodded, watching as Josephine scurried away without bothering a take over her shoulder at her fellow colleagues, exiting the room and easing the door closed behind her. Evelia glanced back to her Commander and realized that he had already begun to strip himself of his armor, half of his exterior already piling upon the floor.

“Ev—I can’t—”

Her hands immediately went to the buckles of his cuirass, unlatching his armor as quickly as she could, peeling away his back and breastplate to help him out of the remainder of his clothing. She dipped before him, nimble fingers working to unknot the laces and buckles of his boots, lifting each in turn in an effort to slip them from his feet. And as soon as he was barefoot, she stood to watch him loose the ties of his breeches, letting them fall to the floor into the clump of the rest of his clothing—revealing his incredibly hot, thick, and swollen cock.

“Evelia.” Her name was harsh on his voice, the pounding in his skull yearning to become a pounding from his loins. “I—I need you.”

She wiggled out of her boots and backed away from him as he advanced—his eyes wild, pupils blown—the golden pools in which she had always found herself lost had suddenly darkened in his sudden and wanton desires. But her retreat ended once the back of her knees met the edge of the bed, and she proceeded to lift her tunic—the fabric scratching her skin on the way up and her hair falling to graze her shoulders once it had been tossed to the floor.

As if he had finally captured his prey, Cullen grasped at her jaw, clenching it in his large, calloused, and trembling palm, staring down into her gray-green eyes for the shortest hesistation before biting into a fervid and urgent kiss. Teeth pierced at her delicate lips, tongue slipping between to split her mouth, and she wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him closer and pressing her hips against his hardened length. But his skin was pallid, a heated sweat clinging to every inch of his muscled torso.

“Oh, Cullen. Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, slinking from his fierce grasp to turn around, folding over the edge of the bed and working down the band of her leggings. “You should have come to me sooner.”

“I tried to fight it,” Cullen muttered through clenched teeth, “ _Maker_ , what you must think of me…” Cullen gripped the base of his cock and pressed his head between her already slick folds, fingers smoothing up to dig into the firmness of her hips to pull toward him—and he quickly parted her body with a forceful and impatient thrust.

Cries of pain and pleasure erupted from Evelia’s throat and she reached backward to grasp at him, encouraging and relishing his sexual unrestraint.

There had been only once when he had accepted her body as a replacement for the urge, the desperation, the _need_ to partake in the thing he’d sworn off for the rest of his life—and in doing so he had experienced such a euphoria, such a dizzying high coupled with a piercingly clear mind once he had emptied his loins in long, steaming spurts across the bow of her muscled back. The memory had been one he’d often used when fisting himself in the secrecy of the night, high up in his loft away from those who could hear him call out her name as his come would splash hot and disappointing into the curl of his palm.

Cullen looked down to find the side of her face pressed to the bed, and he watched as her teeth clamped upon her bottom lip, eyes closed and brow rumpled—a climbing ecstasy written over the features of her face and telling through the rapid and shallow clench and unclench of her cunt. And so he fucked her—the growls of frustration and pain and lust rumbling from deep within his chest to mix with her high-pitched moans—the roll of his hips smacking against her sweat-covered flesh—the skin of her ass sticking and clinging to the heat of his pelvis with each thrust and each extraction.

His fingers went to the nape of her neck, sliding upward along her scalp and fisting a handful of her scarlet hair, pulling back so that the pillar of her spine curved toward the ceiling. And he knew that her nerves were screaming, knew that the pain would heighten her pleasure and that his forcefulness was something she had always craved.

_Maker_ , what had he done to deserve such a woman? A woman who encouraged him to accept her help and offered herself to him in any way he needed. A woman who enjoyed him for who he tried to be, no— _for who he was_ —and never shied away when he struggled. A woman who had even entertained his fantasies and matched his dark and shameful desires. A woman who was now writhing on his cock as her orgasm squeezed and beat against his hardened length—whose grunts, moans, cries, and even his name sang her pleasure from her plump and reddened lips to drown out the song of lyrium prodding temptingly at his consciousness.

“Cullen…” she whispered as soon as her orgasm had subsided, and he stilled his hips—releasing the tight hold he had of her hair.

His cock slipped from her as he stepped back and Evelia turned toward him, her hands reaching up to his shoulders and pulling them down so he that he sunk to his knees on the cold, stone floor. She fully stepped out of her leggings and tossed them away, proceeding to push him further—his ass smacking against the ground, feet jutting out in front of him to accept her onto his lap. Cullen searched her face, his heart suddenly more aware of her actions than he had been previously—the desperation that had traveled along the blood in his veins subsiding in favor of his chest beating for something else entirely.

A hum of pleasure reverberated from the depths of her throat as she sunk down onto his cock, the angle penetrating her more fully, swallowing him whole until her parted folds nestled into his dark and dampened curls. The pads of his fingers trailed along the divots of muscle in her back, curling into the band that confined her breasts, and he pulled it loose from her body so that he could finally palm those lusciously heavy mounds with an intensity that molded their shape to fit his hands.

Evelia leaned back to position herself just right—bringing her feet to plant upon the floor and hands to brace behind her against his gloriously hardened thighs—and she began to fuck him.

Her abdomen flexed with every roll of her hips, her ass smacking against him with every rise and fall, her breasts bouncing in his face for his visual pleasure. Cullen steadied his balance and folded forward, biting at her left breast and sucking against the jiggling flesh. Their aroma danced through his senses—inhaling the scent of her sex and tasting the sweet and salty sweat dripping down her chest and mixing with the heat of his saliva. The way her body gave as his teeth sunk further down into the muscle of the top of her breast— _Andraste preserve him;_ he knew it had to pain her—but the resistance against his teeth, the force sending it backward and upward through his mouth, his skull—it alleviated the ache and replaced the desire for lyrium with the taste of her skin instead.

Her motions were violent, her body moving his despite his seated position, and he grasped at her—his hips attempting to fuck her back with equal intensity—but it wouldn’t do. Cullen grasped her around the waist, so he could recline against the floor. Her hands immediately went to his pectorals, nails digging crescent moons into his skin and Cullen roared—the pain of his withdrawal exchanging for the pain just underneath the curl of her fingers.

With feet firm against the ground, he drove into her—pounding and hammering the crux of her legs, his force so strong that he feared he may leave her sore and riddled with bruises. But her warm, velvety, dripping center was so delicious, so perfectly shaped for him to send his cock as high up into her belly as possible. And he did so, again, and again, and again—faster and faster—harder and harder—the building force of his spend threatening against every nerve of his body. His sac tightened, his hips stuttered beyond control, fingers clasped into her as if he was afraid she would suddenly depart from him.

“I—I need to—” His words cut off as a dangerous growl rumbled through his chest.

“Cullen,” she whispered.

He hooked her jaw into his hand to force her to look him in the eye—to ensure he witnessed the answer to his next question in addition to hearing the confirmation through her words. Cullen smoothed away the ribbons of red stuck to her cheek—his hips still working at their uneven pace—and a tingling of nervousness replaced the tingling of need for his other vices. “Can—Can I come inside you?”

Evelia nodded, her expression melting into one of relief. “Yes,” she breathed. “Come. Come inside me, Cullen.”

Cullen pulled her to drape over his chest—the heavy mounds of her breasts weighty and tight against him—and he resumed his vigorous assault, hips pistoning in and out of her as fast and as hard as he could manage. And with a pained and seemingly endless roar, his orgasm exploded—a bright and bursting white erasing the shadow of withdrawal clouding over every corner of his thick and jumbled thoughts—every nerve alight with a satiated bliss. The heat of his spend flooded within her and he groaned his pleasure, his breath ragged through clenched teeth—a snap of his hips sporadically jolting through her muscles, claiming what little bit of her center had yet to be drenched in his seed.

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled to their side, the cool of the stone stealing away the heat of their bodies, and Cullen sighed—the point of his index finger coming up to press against Evelia’s flushed cheek, dragging it down to caress and outline the lips that he soon captured within his own.

The lyrium migraine had subsided—the fuzziness of his mind now quiet and filled with only the attention of the Inquisitor—no, _his paramour_ —and he finally allowed himself a sheepish smile at her, watching as she continued to shudder from the intensity of their love-making.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Cullen said, nuzzling his nose against hers.

“Do you feel better?” Evelia asked, her eyes searching his for an honest answer.

“More than better.”

She wiggled closer to him, wrapping her arms about him and placing a peck upon his lips. “Then that’s all the thanks I need.”

**Author's Note:**

> Old content from Tumblr consolidated into AO3.
> 
> Title inspired by [Shutting out the Sun by Lunatic Soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l15B0VDM6ik)


End file.
